


Of Coffee and Probably Not Cultists

by Styx_in_the_mud



Category: Cultist Simulator (Video Game), Rusty Quill
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Coffee Shops, Gen, M/M, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22959670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styx_in_the_mud/pseuds/Styx_in_the_mud
Summary: Every coffee shop has it’s weirdos. You may have gotten attached to yours.
Relationships: Kevin Beercan/Tristan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Of Coffee and Probably Not Cultists

**Author's Note:**

> I am writing this while listening to the RQ stream of the Daisy Chaine run and Tristan just RIPed so F i guess. May you live on in the fic Sad boi.

Every coffee shop has it’s regulars. Hell, every coffee shop has it’s _weird_ regulars — the kind that order a particular drink every time, or who do totally-not-shady work at a particular table, or who leave the bathroom smelling… funky when they leave. Some coffee shops even have an awful combination of all three. Yours does. 

The guy gives his name as Kevin Beercan, which — well you’re not one to judge, but as far as fake names go, it’s a little weak. It’s something you’d expect from a middle schooler pranking for the first time, not a man in his (maybe) late 20s. And he gives the same name every time. Third week in, you started to admire his persistence. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it’s his real name. He wears a dark velvet cloak, even in the summer, and you have half a mind to ask him where he got it from when con season comes around. He orders a soy caramel latte with two sugars and half a teaspoon of honey, which is weird but relatively simple compared to Helen-what’s-her-name’s Starbucks secret menu order, so you don’t really mind. You don’t even work at a Starbucks.

‘Kevin’ sits at the same table every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday with his friend (boyfriend? co-conspirator?) Tristan No-last-name. Tristan always arrives first, orders a black coffee, and books the table. He’s usually in a three piece suit, but always pulls out a velvet cloak from his briefcase, drapes it over his chair, and waits. Every week, you watch Kevin walk in, order his drink and stare Tristan down until he puts on the cloak with a sigh. He always drapes his coat over the chair anyway. The staff has a pool running on what their deal is. You have equal stake on them being tabletop gamers and them being boyfriends. The busboy, Ethan, thinks they’re in a cult, but c’mon. Apparently they left some weird sounding poems scrawled on a napkin one time. In your opinion that just lends evidence to your table-topper theory. Possibly even your boyfriend theory. They could be both, you’re not one to judge.

To be fair, they only left the bathroom smelling weird one time. There was also some screaming. And some weird powder on the floor. But that could have come from your shift manager’s cocaine habit. You’re not paid to ask questions, so you just air out the room, sweep up the powder, and ignore the lingering echoes of the screams. You’ve always had a vivid imagination.

Another weird thing about Kevin — he’s always covered in paint. It’s gotten to the point where you can tell the state of his mood to the amount of paint on his hands. You amend your theory to include table-topping art-student boyfriends. Tristan doesn’t seem like an art student though, more like a business guy. But you know what university is like. The idea of a star-crossed arts-commerce relationship appeals to your inner romantic. It’s almost...cute.

Kevin comes in with red soaked hands one evening. For once he’s here before Tristan. It worries you. There have been weeks before where neither of them have shown, but never has one been there without the other. You offer him a cookie, on the house. He looks at you with haunted eyes and tells you that the flame burns before his eyes without the ease of rest. You nod. He takes the cookie. You imagine the metallic scent of blood.

Your partner is a dick, your shift manager is a dick, and the owner is the dick supreme. You’re being cheated on, your immediate supervisor has fucked off for another snort in the bathroom, and you’re going to lose your job. You shouldn’t know this last thing, but Cathy from afternoon shift has always been a blabbermouth and everyone knows she’s been sleeping with the owner for months now so it’s probably accurate information. You work on autopilot and make half-hearted plans to steal a year’s worth of creamer and tea bags. A shadow falls on the counter and you’re writing Kevin’s name on the cup before he even opens his mouth. Tristain is sitting at their usual table. You didn’t even notice him come in but the scar over his eye is unmissable... and new. Kevin gives his usual order and you nod, turning to make it because your shift manager _still_ hasn’t come back from the bathroom and Adam, who usually does drinks, hasn’t shown up in three days the fucker. You feel a tap on your wrist and freeze. Kevin inclines his head towards you and asks you what’s wrong. You find yourself spilling the whole story. Maybe you just needed to get it out. He gives you a considering look, and tells you he has a proposition for you, if you’re willing to hear him out. You’re all ears. Couldn’t be worse than this.

**Author's Note:**

> #Trysvin lives


End file.
